Like a Record, Baby
by kabensi
Summary: There's a party. And some Spin the Bottle. RachelQuinn Femslash Faberry, if you will.


It started with a lousy game of Spin the Bottle (doesn't it always?).

The party was Finn's idea, something to take the edge off the stress of approaching sectionals while simultaneously celebrating the survival of mid-terms. Quinn volunteered her house, since the parents were away for the weekend (to that place parents conveniently disappear to when parties must be had). Besides, if she had to be sober, she could keep an eye on things and make sure nobody caused any irreparable damage. This being glee and not a homecoming after-party, she wasn't too concerned, anyway. Puck secured the booze. Mercedes provided the jams. And Kurt... Kurt was the one who suggested the stupid game in the first place.

To be fair, the evening was off to a rocky start. While everyone got along fine during glee and were even beginning to mingle in other areas of school, this was the first time they'd all come together in a party situation. Within a half an hour, there was a distinct divide visible between those who wanted to play beer pong and those who wanted to choreograph a (just for fun!) routine to the latest Lady Gaga single. Granted, Artie had a mean double bounce and Santana was ready to bust out with some moves, but it's wasn't turning out to be much of a bonding experience.

Unless you counted what was happening in the kitchen. Which, really, wasn't much. At first.

"You don't need to be doing that."

"What? This?" Quinn dumped the remainder of the tortilla chips into the bowl.

Rachel took the now empty bag out of her hand. "Hostessing. We're supposed to be relaxing tonight."

"Last time I relaxed during a party, someone peed in a houseplant."

Rachel nodded over toward Mercedes, Tina, and Santana as they moved around the living room, while Kurt shouted out eight counts. "I don't think that's a risk factor this time around." Immediately, hooting and hollering filtered in from the patio where the ping slash beer pong table was housed. "Though, I could be wrong."

Quinn just shrugged and pick up a stray tortilla chip.

"Sit down. Hang out. We'll girl talk. About what, I don't know, because I don't really girl talk. But I'm sure you can give me a detailed breakdown on what girl talking entails."

"You're so weird."

"I've endured much stronger criticisms from you in the past." By now, Rachel had Quinn by the hand and was pulling her out of the kitchen. She led the former cheerleader toward the living room sofa. "Sit."

There was no use resisting. And Rachel was right. She should relax. The houseplants were safe (probably).

They didn't talk. Not to each other, anyway. Rachel gave Santana some loose instruction on choreography. Quinn was content just to watch her friends(?) dance.

That was when Kurt saw "it". An opportunity. An inkling. A ping (if you will).

The room fell silent as the iPod stopped, mid-song, Kurt's finger on the touchpad. At first, he thought it might prove difficult to get the guys in off the patio, but once they heard the possible promise of some liplocking, they were in.

And, then, there they all were, circled up around an empty bottle, waiting out destiny. Or, at least, thirty seconds of bliss or horror, depending on where it landed.

The first few rounds were standard fare. Kurt kissed Rachel who kissed Artie who kissed Brittany who kissed Tina who kissed Puck who (awkwardly) kissed Quinn who rolled here eyes and re-spun the bottle. Which landed on Rachel. This wasn't that big a deal. They weren't even the first girl on girl kiss of the game. The guy whooped the same way they did when it was Brittany kissing Tina. And, yet, Rachel felt like there was extra pressure. Quinn felt like this was a stupid game, anyway. They both silently agreed to get it over with and then, maybe after this, convince everyone that beer pong and dance routines were a perfectly agreeable way to finish out the evening.

No big deal. Just a kiss. So, then, what was taking so long? Nothing, Rachel decided. And she went for it. Just to get it over with (remember?). She didn't ever imagine that her hand might get tangled in Quinn's hair, probably because she always had it up in that ponytail. Until recently, when she'd started wearing it down, like she was right now, replacing harshness with soft golden waves around her face. Not that she's imagined any scenario where her hand might get caught in Quinn's hair. Not intentionally. Not really. Not recently. Not today. Not necessary, since she was doing it, for real, right now.

And Quinn... well, Quinn would never have considered a moment like this, as a game or otherwise. Making out with Rachel Berry? Right. Please. (Yes, please?) Whatever things might have changed over this school year, Quinn Fabray was not looking to head up any Pride Parades. It was bad enough to get pregnant. To get kicked off the Cheerios. To get pity from Rachel Berry. And now, apparently, pity comes with tongue? How long had they been at this, anyway? (Since before all this even started.)

Then the kiss was over. Both girls glanced around, positive that everyone knew something was up, even though neither of them knew just want it was. Rachel could see them all staring at her, waiting for something.

"What?"

Kurt waved toward the bottle. "It's your spin."

"Oh."

The game only lasted a few more rounds until the guys got restless and worried they might have to kiss each other. Puck announced his desire for Jager shots and led the party back onto the patio.

Quinn, who was stuck with Vitamin Water for the night (and the next several months) opted to stay inside. She hadn't planned on ending up in her bedroom with Rachel, engaged in an extended version of Kurt's stupid game. Rachel hadn't planned on ending up in bed with her former(?) nemesis, for the night (and several other nights).

It started with a lousy game (Thanks, Kurt!). But it was bound to happen, anyway (doesn't it always?).


End file.
